Tried But Untrue
by ConcreteHole
Summary: His initiation into the victorious warrior brotherhood is not what Patroclus had expected. Helped by guidance from Eudorus, he is forced to confront a moral issue all men must face and learn why Achilles is the way he is. One-Shot.


**Set in Troy before Patroclus' end.**

**A huge thanks to my beta Gaslight.**

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The fire crackled and hissed, sending embers flying through the frigid night air. Despite the warmth of the country, the winds that poured across the sea were enough to freeze even the most stalwart men to the bone, and Patroclus was no exception. Yet he paid no attention to the wind biting at his arms or the cinders that scorched his skin. He was too lost in the endless labyrinth of thought.

His eyes were blank and unmoving, his mind awhirl amidst a torrent of hurt, anger and confusion. Surely Achilles could not fault him for what he had done? He had been no different than the others, and it was his right, as a man and a conqueror to take his spoils. That was the price of war, a tradition and a rite of passage; so why had his cousin been angered so?

From a seeming lifetime away he felt a new presence beside him. No, not new. Familiar. Far too familiar.

"Have you come to take your turn at me as well?" he retorted, knowing how childish he sounded, but unwilling to admit it.

"No," the voice replied levelly, emotionlessly. Patroclus knew he should not have been surprised; never in all his years had he known the man to lose his patience and betray his feelings – nothing like his cousin. "I doubt that I need to."

He tried his best to ignore his words, as they were once again the voice of reason. He knew the deep, sombre tone all too well – irate and chiding, though never judging. Perhaps that was what made it all the more fearsome when it became scornful.

"I do not see what I have to apologize for!"

"Do you really?"

Patroclus remained silent, his anger rising as steadily as the ocean tide. Curse the man's irritatingly restrained manner.

"Do not try to act like my father, Eudorus!" he clipped bitterly, in no mood for games.

"And perhaps I must, if you are to continue to make such childish, irrational decisions."

Patroclus finally turned to look at the man, fire burning in his eyes. He was not surprised to find him still and silent, gazing grimly into the fire. He briefly marvelled at the brightness of his eyes, cool and deadly as two pieces of ice, the light of the fire illuminating them beyond the measure of man.

He sighed heavily and turned back to the fire, unwilling to meet his piercing gaze for a second time that night.

"Is Achilles still angry?"

"I will be surprised if he has a tent left standing by morning - I pity the person who has to clean it."

"Oh..."

He heard the elder man sigh, not from anger or impatience, but from obvious disappointment.

"Do you truly feel nothing? Care not at all?"

He wanted to lie. He wanted to say yes; perhaps then the feeling of his own filthiness would fade from his skin.

"Yes."

"Liar."

Patroclus felt his anger rising again. How dare he assume such!

"This is not a game, Patroclus," Eudorus spoke, cutting the boy off before he had a chance to speak. "You cannot move around and do as you please, inflicting pain wherever you wish -"

"- I was not the only one there," he cut off, attempting fruitlessly to defend his actions. "They took part as well! What is the difference?"

"The difference is - you are supposed to be better than they are!" The silence felt whole and all consuming around him. "Do not style yourself after men like Appius, Patroclus. I think you will come to find they leave much to be desired."

"And who should I wish to be like? You?" he bit out cruelly. "When is the last time I've seen you with a woman?"

"And when is the last time you have seen me cause a woman to beg for mercy, and scream for the Gods to bring death upon her swiftly?"

The tension around them was palpable as Eudorus raised his voice in harsh anger for the first time in all of Patroclus' long memories of the captain.

"It was all in fun," he muttered quietly, not even believing his own words and hanging his head low in shame. He knew the misery he had caused, the pain he had inflicted. If he could take it back, then he would... wouldn't he?

"Was it? It did not seem in good fun from where I stood, and I doubt the woman you ravaged would disagree with me."

Patroclus doubted she would disagree, either. Nothing about it had felt as he had imagined. It had been his first time with a woman; it should have been a time for drinking and celebration. Now he sought refuge in drink for another reason. Perhaps that was why he had seen so many men drown their sorrows in the bottom of an empty flagon.

Staring briefly into the half-empty goblet that hung from his hand, he wondered if it really worked.

"And you have never done the like?"

Another barely audible sigh came from the man.

"Yes – many times," he replied, his tone dark. "A long time ago."

"And what made you change?"

"Seeing what a hopeless, desperate animal I had become."

"...And Achilles?" he asked quietly.

"The same."

More long moments of empty silence followed, nothing but the sound of their breathing to be heard; that is if they discounted the drunken brawling of men, and the screams of the captured Trojan women. Soon their cries for mercy would stop as they accepted their fates, and when the sun rose, they would be discarded - broken and well-used.

"...What happened?"

He was almost afraid to ask the question, fearing knowledge of what could affect a man such as Achilles so greatly.

The captain remained silent, his gaze still turned toward the fire, unseeing and unmoving. Patroclus briefly wondered if he had heard him at all.

"It was many years ago," he replied, his tone distant, cold as the chilly night air. Patroclus had no doubt it was no fond memory that he recalled. He remained silent, waiting for Eudorus to speak, both eager to receive the information, and terrified of what it might reveal. "We were still soldiers – Achilles and I – before he formed the Myrmidons... The reason he formed the Myrmidons." He turned quickly towards Patroclus. "You are his cousin. Has he ever spoken of it to you?"

He shook his head firmly.

"No." After a moment of thought he added, "Only that he refused to be counted among them any longer – I never thought much of it. You know how he is."

"That I do," he replied. "And in times such as this, I am glad for it." Still Patroclus waited for an answer to his question. Eudorus sighed again, hesitant to speak of whatever obviously caused him so great a grief. "There was a village, outside of Kala Atash, when we were at war with the Persians."

"I remember – I was only a child then," he replied.

Eudorus looked at him suddenly, a clear thought gleaming in his bright eyes; a thought he did not voice, but Patroclus still knew.

'_As you are now.'_

He'd known the captain far too long to not know otherwise. In Eudorus' eyes, just as in Achilles', he would always be a child. He had hoped tonight would prove his manhood to him - convince him he was old enough to fight - but instead all he had gained was a sound beating around the head and the sharp side of his cousin's tongue.

"Yes, you would not have been much more than a babe – I'm surprised you remember it at all," he replied, never giving hint of the thoughts Patroclus knew were there.

"Achilles was gone for almost a year. That I do remember, if nothing of the time spent without him."

From the firelight he could see a wry smile cross Eudorus' face, and his eyes, before sombre and reflective held a hint of what Patroclus could have sworn was joy.

"Mmm," he replied. "That you would remember."

For a moment Patroclus felt pity for the older man as the brief glint of merriment faded from his eyes, leaving him to wonder if it had ever been there at all. While he had his cousin, and his cousin he, Eudorus had no one. No home or family, no mentor or kin; only Achilles, his oldest and dearest friend. No wonder he went to such lengths to serve him. Achilles was the only constant in his life – and yet Eudorus would always fall second to Patroclus, bested by Achilles' own blood, decades of loyal service thrown to the dogs.

"And?" he gently chided the older man, pushing for an answer, his apprehensiveness growing by the minute.

"We sacked the village," he replied. There was no fuss, no nonsense, his answer was not drawn out or filled with regret. He stated it coldly and concisely, like he did so many things. It was a fact – a fact that could not be changed. "We took what we could, and most had fled – seen our armies approaching, and ran for the hills. Many escaped, but some..." There his voice cut off, and he looked down towards the ground, turning his head completely away from Patroclus. "It was a long time ago, and what is done is done."

"What?" Patroclus replied angrily, grabbing at the man's arm as he attempted to rise. "You cannot tell me so much, and then choose to hide the rest! What happened there?"

"Things that should not be spoken to a child!" he snapped angrily for the second time that night.

Patroclus was taken aback by the harshness of his tone, and the impetuousness of his answer. Never before had he seen the typically quiet, reserved and thoughtful man lose his temper so. Especially not with him.

He sighed before he acquiesced and remained seated.

"It could not have been that bad," Patroclus spoke rationally.

"Oh?" Eudorus replied sarcastically, and Patroclus knew he had pushed the man too far. After a moment he spoke again, his voice returning to its familiar tone. "It should not have been that bad..."

Even in the darkness of the night, Patroclus could see the sorrow upon the captain's face; not a new style he wore, he was sad to say, and yet he had never seen it as intense or all consuming as it was now.

"There was a child," he began slowly, each word that fell from his mouth carefully thought out, picking and choosing what he would reveal to him. "A young girl, no more than seven or eight. Most of the village had fled, but she had been left behind. We found her, hiding in some rubble, praying for mercy."

"- How did you know what she was saying? She was a Persian, wasn't she?" Patroclus interjected.

"Terror needs no language."

"Oh..." Patroclus replied sombrely. After a moment he asked, "What did you do to her?"

"_We_ did nothing," he snapped, clearly angry at his assumption. "But there were few women remaining in the village, and a large number of lonely men, and they - just as you - believed women to be a part of the spoils of war."

Patroclus had no need for him to say anymore; he already knew all too clearly what had happened.

"But it did not stop there," Eudorus continued, refusing to cease his flow of harsh memories upon Patroclus' ears. "It was not enough to take her, again and again until there was nothing left but a moaning pile of blood and tears. They were still hungry for blood, and had apparently had not found enough to satisfy their lust." Patroclus could not find the will or courage within himself to ask him what more they had done. "They built a fire," he continued, disgust and horror lacing each word, and Patroclus was sure he had seen the unwavering captain begin to shake.

He felt his stomach turn as the nausea spread though his body.

"What... What did they do?"

He did not need to ask the question; he already knew.

"They burnt her," Eudorus replied coldly, all emotion leaving his voice but never his eyes. "Slowly, piece by piece. They wanted to hear her scream, to see her beg and plead for mercy. To watch her die like the Persian whore they called her."

Patroclus felt the bile rise in his throat and watched in horror the flames that leapt in front of him. If he looked closely enough, he would have sworn he saw a young girl, agonizing within its depths.

He turned violently away, trying to push away the sight from his mind, and the smell of burning flesh that met his nose. Curse the funeral pyres that hours ago had lit the skies. Now they remained not as a reminder of the victorious dead, but as a picture of the horrors that lurked in the minds of men.

Now he knew why Achilles avoided them so. Not out of disrespect of the dead, but in hiding of what he had once witnessed.

"And you did nothing...?"

"No," Eudorus replied darkly. "And we never will again."

He did not have to speak his meaning; Patroclus understood it well. They had seen many atrocities in war and battle, and yet none had sliced so deeply as one night's celebration afterwards.

"Do not become them, Patroclus," Eudorus spoke quietly, his voice filled with more emotion than he knew he would like to reveal. "Do not follow others blindly; do so and you will do nothing more than lose yourself in the process. You are no longer a boy – now is the time for you to find your own feet. Do not tread in the sad footsteps of others." Silently the captain rose, this time with no hindrance from him. "You will find your life a sorry one if you do."

The night seemed visibly darker as he walked away, never hesitating or looking back.

Patroclus felt his mind spin and his stomach reel, the knowledge of what he himself had done earlier that evening weighing even heavier upon his shoulders.

He felt himself go cold at the thought of the young girl, and of the woman he had raped. Why were they so different?

And as the sun set and he fell deeper still into the prison of his mind, at each scream that echoed across the encampment, he could not help but wonder where the poor woman lay.

He watched the fire resolutely, the flames dancing across his eyes, and silently prayed to her, wherever she was, for her forgiveness.

As he continued to watch the burning embers, once more he saw the image of a girl, swimming within its depths. Achilles may have watched in horror as she died, but he would not do the same. He could not take back what he had done, but perhaps he could make amends with the wronged woman now.

Quickly he rose, turning back towards the encampment.

He would find her and do what he could to stop it from happening again. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

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